Thursday, 25 December 2014

Like the rest of the nation, I was grateful to Vanity Fair this month for advising us
that, after the compulsory hob-nobbing with the subjects at church in Sandringham,
Wills and Kate will be spending
Christmas with Kate’s siblings at their own modest little but and ben, Anmer
Hall. I reckon it’s as well to be on home ground, where Kate can discreetly
throw up in a Ming vase if necessary, and the fawning equerries won’t get
uptight if wee George decides to plaster some Regency wallpaper with crayon.

I’m sure you, too, simply can’t relax until you know what notable
people around the world will be getting up to for Christmas. Fortunately, due
to a vivid imagination and copious use of mind-bending drugs, I can tell you.

Her Majesty the Queenwas working right up to the last minute on
a re-recording of her Christmas broadcast to tone down references to the independence referendum. It’s nothing to do with appearing
to be neutral, it’s just that anything that sounds like purring totally freaks
out the corgis.

Alex Salmond will be performing his now-traditional Christmas Day
walk across the waters of Strichen Lake. Fledgling First Minister Nicola
Sturgeon willfor the first time attempt a similar feat on
Hogganfield Loch, with small flotation devices discreetly attached to her
tartan stilletoes. Meanwhile new
Scottish Labour leader Jim Murphy will outdo them both by jogging down
the middle of the River Clyde, clad in a bright yellow T-Shirt so that if
anyone lobs an egg at him it’ll blend in.

Alistairs Darling and Carmichael will be clutching
their lucky teddies in keen anticipation of the New Year Honours List. It’ll need to be gongs for both, or they’ll
scweam and scweam until they’re sick.
Hell hath no fury like an Establishment mouthpiece scorned.

Gordon Brown will have vanished off the face of the earth. It doesn’t matter how many Santas you yank
the beard off with a cry of “Aha!”, or how many china shops you open so he can
come rampaging through them, you’ll never find him.

Danny Alexander will be busy pretending everything the Coalition
Cabinet did in the last five years was someone else’s idea.

David Cameron and a group of his well-heeled Chipping Norton
friends have been spending Christmas Eve pouring dozens of jeroboams of vintage
champagne into a giant swimming pool, so that today they can all be in it
together.

George Osborne will be totally compos mentis, and in no way
dishevelled or completely off his tits, and if you express any alternative views
you’ll be hearing from m’learned friends.

Nigel Farage has asked Santa for a purple-and-yellow submarine
with a large fin on top, so that he can pilot it up and down the Thames in
front of the Houses of Parliament menacingly humming the theme music from Jaws.

Boris Johnsonwill be cutting his own hair as usual.
It’s worth the extra effort to get it just right.

Andrew Mitchell MP is taking his annual training course. In
2012 it was cycling proficiency, in 2013 anger management and this year it’s
“Libel Law for Dummies”. Meanwhile, the “Justice for Andrew” group of backbench
Tory MPs have sadly just missed out on a Christmas Number One with their
charity singleHe Ain’t
Plebby, He’s My Brother.

The Miliband brotherswill prepare the family Christmas dinner
together. During this process, Ed will lose three teeth through repeated
contact with a heavy frying pan, David will suffer neck injuries in a bizarre
incident involving a pedal bin, both men will have to be restrained in case
they get their hands on the carving knives and the brandy poured over the
Christmas pudding will, when lit, unexpectedly turn out to be petrol.

Nick Cleggwill gaze forlornly out of the window,
wishing he could build a snowman to be his friend.

Eric Pickleswill be glued toStrictly Come DancingChristmas
on BBC1 and thinking, “Next year, that could be me, if only I can restrict
myself to four pies at lunchtime. And if Health and Safety don’t object to me
getting my top off.”

Iain Duncan Smithwill take his ukulele to a nearby old
folks’ home and perform a series of George Formby numbers. His version ofWhen I’m Cleaning Windows,
about spying on alleged benefit scroungers, always gets the audience going.
Staff at the home say it’s remarkable how far they can hurl bulky objects at
that age.

Lord Sugarwill head off to the local food bank to
help out for the day. By the time he leaves, most of the staff will have been
fired and it will be turning a tidy profit.

Finally…

The world’s most prominent bankers, having decided there’s nothing left on
Earth worth stealing, will climb aboard the Shard, the escape rocket they’ve
secretly been building in London for the past few years, and blast off to
exploit the rich resources of the planet B’staad.

As soon as they’re gone, mankind will discover that peace, love
and brotherhood really is the cure for all problems, and there will follow a
golden age, without want or suffering of any kind. Just as satisfyingly, the
Shard will collide with a huge rocket accidentally launched by North Korea after an unexpected computer malfunction, and
its fragments will hurtle randomly into the vast emptiness of space for ever.

Well, what would Christmas be if it didn’t bring us a message of
hope?

Merry Christmas, folks! A brief encounter with writer's block, an entanglement in pre-Christmas consumer madness and a bout of Yuletide lurgy have all combined to keep me away from the keyboard this month. Sorry about that, and I'll be taking steps to rectify that, big time, in the New Year. With any luck you'll be hearing from me before that, as I have a half-completed Jim Murphy rant I really must get off my chest.

Anyway, compliments of the season to one and all, thanks for sticking with me over this roller-coaster of a year, and remember - the best is yet to come!

Monday, 1 December 2014

Christmas time – tills are ringingBut your credit score’s minging!There’s only one wayTo stretch out your pay:Walking in a Wonga Wonderland

Dim the lights, cut the heating,Scold your children for eating,Alternatively,Just go on a spree,Walking in a Wonga Wonderland

We’ll inject a swift financial fix, andYou’ll believe you’re in a better place,Till, before you know it, you’re in quicksandAs our fees and charges hit you in the face.

If the outlook is drasticAnd you’ve maxed out your plastic,We’re right up your streetAnd you’re easy meat,Walking in a Wonga Wonderland

When you’re plumb out of headroom,‘Cos the State’s taxed your bedroom,We’re waiting for youLike Nosferatu,Walking in a Wonga Wonderland

All the future fruits of your endeavoursWe’ll enjoy, and leave you with the dregs.We’ll secure your loyalty forever,‘Cos the competition tends to break your legs.

Circling round like a vulture,That’s the free market culture,Exploiting your painFor shareholders’ gain,Walking in a Wonga Wonderland
Walking in a Wonga Wonderland
Walking in a Wonga Wonderland(repeat until bankruptcy)

About Me

I'm a writer who returned to Scotland in 2013 after 30+ years in the Home Counties. If you enjoy reading my ramblings, please return often and recommend me to your friends on Twitter, Facebook and Planet Earth. That way someone may one day give me money to do this sort of thing, which would be nice.
william_duguid@hotmail.com